


Sammy on my Mind

by majesticduxk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, F/M, Fluff, Humour, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Mild Angst, Mild Mpreg, Mpreg, No Sex, Nudity, Protective Family, Sexual References, Slapstick, Swearing, based on a movie, drug references, long term medical problem (memory loss), slapstick violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4787783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesticduxk/pseuds/majesticduxk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has dreams. Dreams that don’t involve his boat sinking on the other side of the island. Pissed off at the coastguard, he ends up at a rickety local diner and suddenly Sam has only one goal: to woo Dean. The problem? Dean can’t remember Sam. Ever.<br/>But Sam’s up to the challenge, to somehow make a Sam shaped space in Dean’s life.</p><p> </p><p>(vaguely based on 50 First Dates)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Our Heroes Meet

**Author's Note:**

> a/n. I AM SO SORRY! I know this was an mpreg challenge, and it ended up being such a tiny part of it. I did not choose a good movie for writing for this challenge, although I still did have a lot of fun. I hope that it is at least a little enjoyable!
> 
> unbeta'd due to my disorganisation

The breeze blew his hair into eyes, even as the salt spray spattered him. Despite this, he was hot, he was annoyed, and his boat was broken. 

“So we can keep it here, but it’ll be another couple of hours before we can take it round to the marina.”

Incomprehension flooded Sam’s face. “What do you mean it’ll be another couple of hours?”

The coastguard shrugged. “Sorry Dr Campbell. You’re on shore, your safe, and that means you’re not a priority. So, see you in a few hours.” The coastguard’s radio sprang into live, emanating a cacophony of squawk and static. Glancing at Sam, the coastguard added sheepishly, “Probably.”

\--oo--

Staring in disbelief as his boat slumped uselessly in the harbour, Sam cursed. He’d been working on that thing day and night, preparing himself for the next adventure. Instead of a successful inaugural voyage for _The Impala_ (a boat he had shed blood, sweat and tears for), he was back at square one. Further back really. How off the board could he go? 

Sam bemoaned the fates, wondering if the day get any worse? As the heavens opened up, Sam found that yes, yes it fucking well could. Cursing he held his captains log over his head as he looked around. He didn’t want to be here. He really wanted to get home… Just... be in his own house, in his own bed, eating his own ice cream, dreaming of his boating adventures. Instead, he was on the beach on the wrong side of waiting for the coast guard who were probably never going to rescue his boat. It would be stuck out in the bay forever. A monument to dreams that were, and never would be. 

And even if they did eventually rescue his boat – and only God only knew how long they would be – this still put him totally behind schedule. Today marked – _had_ marked – the start to the countdown of Sam’s journey of a lifetime. Six more months and he and his trusty steed would be sailing towards Alaska. 

Instead his trusty steed had failed, balking at the first jump. It was even like he’d expected a lot. Just for damn thing to float. It was what boats fucking did!

Sighing, he headed up the beach. At least he could get a cup of coffee. He really hoped this side of the island had good coffee. 

\--oo-- 

“The Roadhouse?” It didn’t sound too touristy… but then again, there was a hula girl painted on the sign out front, while statues of various sizes surrounded it. Complete with plastic grass skirts, and plastic leis. Still, as Sam’s mother used to say, beggars can’t be choosers, and there weren’t any other options. Girding his loins, Sam walked in to be greeted with the beady eye from a very stern looking woman behind the bar. 

Sam smiled with professional charm, but it didn’t melt the ice one bit. Shrugging, Sam examined the interior. It was an odd mix of traditional bar furniture and kitsch Hawaiian dancing girls. There was a pool table in the corner that had obviously seen better days: it was currently adorned with hibiscus flowers and more dancing girl statues. The clientele… well, the clientele definitely didn’t seem the grass skirt wearing type. More the hard bitten, hard drinking type. 

It was early morning but more than one looked like they’d been here all night. So not really Sam’s type. That was ok. Sam was more than willing to sit and drink and think on the ills of the world. All alone. With only a coffee for a friend. Hopefully the coffee was drinkable… 

Speaking of coffee, Sam turned his attention back to the woman behind the bar.

“Hi, could I grab a coffee? To drink here?”

Skilled hands dried the cup held firmly between two weathered hands, even as knowing eyes raked him from head to toe. Sam had the feeling he’d come up lacking. Still, she did nod. 

“Fine. Sit over there,” a chin jerked in the direction of a table facing the road. “Bobby’ll bring your coffee when it’s ready.”

Blinking Sam didn’t move. 

“You didn’t hear me, boy?”

“Ah… don’t you want to know how I want my… no… no… obviously you don’t. I’ll just… sit over here. Yeah…” he muttered to himself. “I’ll sit over here and wait for a coffee of dubious origin and content.”

His hopes weren’t high as he sat himself down. But that was this whole godforsaken day all over. Looking out the window, all he could see was grey clouds and rain. And a carpark full of cars that weren’t taking him home. He wallowed for a few moments – this really was the worst day ever – before he just felt bored. A quick look at his watched showed two minutes had passed. What the fuck? How was he supposed to pass hours here? Heaving a sigh, Sam stood, and with a defiant look back at the bar, sat on the opposite side of the table. 

And it was better. If he looked out over the other customers heads, he could see the bay below them. Just. It was grey and bleak and if he looked closely he could see his useless hunk of boat.

Scowling, Sam donned his sunglasses and looked at the customers instead. Yeah, yeah, how pretentious, this way though, he could people watch in peace. He really wasn’t in a sociable mood... It wasn’t until his eyes focused on a rather charming looking man, Sam considered his options. An older man was there. Bobby, Sam decided, the one who would bring his coffee.

Eventually. 

He didn’t appear in any hurry to leave the charming man. Instead he carefully placed a plate full of waffles and some ridiculously looking chocolate drink on the table. God, it really was ridiculous. Piled high with whipped cream, and sprinkles, and what looked like a whole bag of marshmallows on the side. 

Sam’s not interested in a local boy, at least not as anything other than eye candy, but he can’t help but look: there wae watches as with intense concentration, the man takes his waffles and starts to construct a house. The simple move was both endearing and sexy, and Sam couldn't help himself.

Sauntering across the room, Sam slid into the seat opposite the man. Feeling the weight of owner’s eyes on him, Sam made sure to settle himself a little more comfortably. Leaning close, he studied the house before grabbing a toothpick and poking it in the apex. 

Surprised green eyes found Sam’s, and Sam stared back seriously. “You’ll find the structural integrity is much greater if you support it even this little bit.”

Lips form the most delicious pout before the man dropped his eyes to the structure. He studied it intently before looking back at Sam.

“Strong enough to hold up a deluge of syrup rain?”

Sam forgot to respond, so caught up in the man’s voice. It was much deeper than he expected, manly, yet still sweeter than the syrup that the man was holding. It takes a moment to realise that there really _i_ s a jug of syrup above the house, and it’s tipped, ready to pour. And Sam was so fucking charmed by the challengingly cocked eye brow. 

“What? That’s so high! The gravitational pull will exert extra pressure on the house. Surely you want to run a few trials?”

“Uh, uh, uh. It works or it doesn’t. Your permission to sit there depends on the structural soundness of this building.”

Sam holds his breath as the syrup falls. He can feel the weight of the room urging the building to fall. And it does wobble. It wobbles… but it holds. Sam’s face split in a huge grin.

“Looks like you stay.”

Smiling, Sam was about to turn on the charm, start his subtle flirtatious dance, when a cup was slammed onto the table in front of him. Jerking back with a growl, Sam glared up at the delivery boy.

“Coffee.”

What happened to the slow and careful from before? Dick, Sam thought as he mopped uselessly at his shirt.

“Bobby!” The beautiful mans’ voice was scolding, but he’s not angry. “You spilled it everywhere. Is that the sort of service we expect?”

“Sorry, son. Just checking out the idjit here.”

Sam would take offence – Sam _does_ take offence – but he doesn’t show it. Because the soft smile the man turned on Bobby (cantankerous, annoying, old bastard. Honestly, how do they even keep the diner afloat if Bobby threatens all the decent paying customers?) was simply breathtaking.

“Awwww. You think I can’t look after myself.”

Shaking his head, Bobby mopped at the coffee, flicking as much as he can back onto Sam, whilst maintaining a threatening glare. Sam can’t help but be a little impressed at Bobby’s multitasking abilities.

The pretty man elbows Bobby. “Hey old man, I know what you’re doing?”

“And what’s that.”

The smile was just as captivating as the rest of him. “I don’t need you to look out for me – I can look out of myself.”

Funnily enough, Sam had no problem imagining that. The smile took on a slightly vicious edge, and Sam shivered. Definitely worth staying on the good side of that grin… 

A large group of customers enter the Roadhouse, and the woman called for Bobby. 

“How long does it take to deliver a coffee?”

Grumbling, Bobby retreated. But his eyes gave a warning Sam was all set to ignore. Especially as the man was still grinning at him.

“He’s just a bit protective. Like a second father really. I’d be careful not to get on his bad side.”

It was much too late for that, but Sam smiled, as he was meant to. “I’ll do my best… Uh, actually I don’t know we’ve been introduced. My name’s Sam.”

Sam reached across the table, hand held out. Green eyes stared at it a moment, before grasping Sam’s hand firmly. It was a good handshake. And that was a fine hand. A little work worn and calloused, but with sensitive fingers.

“Dean.”

Dean. Sam smiled to himself, but before he could test the waters, a muffled spluttering drew his attention. 

Dean laughs bigger than before. “Protective _and_ a grump. Just ignore him!”

Nodding, Sam tries to think of a way to continue the conversation, but Bobby beat him to it.

“Don’t you need to get back, Dean? Not saying that your daddy wants you there for your birthday…”

“It’s your birthday?”

Dean grins big. “Every January 24.”

Frowning, Sam went to speak, but was interrupted – yet again.

“Of you go, boy. Tell your daddy and Kevin hi from us.”

“Will do, Ellen!” 

Dean doesn’t seem too upset about being hustled away, and Sam pouts. He can’t help it. It’s been a fucked up day, and Dean has been the only silver lining, now he’s being taken away. 

Dean’s up and almost at the door when he turns back. “What say we do lunch tomorrow, Sam? Same time, same place?”

Stunned, Sam forgot to nod until Dean was out the door. He hadn’t thought he’d made that much of an impression! Throwing money on the table, Sam stood to leave. No point hanging around here. Maybe he could hitch a ride back to town? But - the lady - Ellen stops him. 

“I don’t think you should come back tomorrow. That’s just asking for trouble” 

Sam felt his hackles rising. It’s none of their business. The owners, and Sam felt sure they owned the place, are unreasonably protective. Dean is a grown man after all. “Dean asked me, and surely that’s up to him?”

Without giving her a chance to respond, Sam was out the door. Maybe he’ll walk home. Fuck waiting around. But whatever happens, he’ll be back tomorrow.


	2. Already Forgotten

Sam woke feeling really fucking good. For a moment he couldn’t remember why. His mornings generally had a pattern to them: he wakes and he thinks of himself on the deck of _The Impalas_ , navigating the icy waters of the north. Sometimes he sits on deck, and whales jump around him, other times he bravely, and successfully, navigates through treacherous, icy straits. This is promptly followed with by the sickening realisation that the boat is nowhere near done, and his dreams really are just that: dreams.

Today though…

“Dean!”

Fuck! How could he have forgotten! Even as the name passes his lips, so too does the image of a freckled, smiling visage cross his mind. And Sam’s going to see it all again. 

In person. 

Today.

It was more exciting than Christmas.

The clock revealed 6.45am. It was early – ridiculously so - but Sam was eager to be up. The sooner he got to the Roadhouse, the sooner he’d see Dean again. What time was their assignation? 

Unable to stay in bed, Sam threw back the covers and strode naked to the kitchen. Ignoring his morning wood, he whistled a happy tune. He’d deal with that later. After decent coffee, and with thoughts of Dean, and soft lips, and soft skin, and-

Sam would deal with that as soon as he dealt with his best friend, who was currently standing in the middle of _Sam’s_ kitchen, drinking milk straight from _his_ milk carton.

 

“What the fuck, Cas? That’s nasty. Use a fucking glass!”

He went to snatch it back, and somehow missed. Sam glared at Castiel, his now _ex_ best friend. Castiel paused, hand still held half way to his mouth, as he blinked myopically at Sam.

“What are you doing here?”

Grabbing the milk from Castiel’s limp hand, Sam pointedly took a glass from the cupboard, before pouring himself a big glass. Glaring, he resolutely took a sip, gagging slightly at the flavour. Fucking disgusting stuff. 

“I live here. What’s your excuse?”

Instead of answering, the infuriating man got himself a bowl or cereal, deftly snagging Sam’s glass and adding it to the bowl as he made his way back to the sofa, where he had obviously spent the night. Seating himself comfortably, Sam watched as his friends slowly ate whatever sugar laden cereal had been snuck into his cupboards. 

“My way is better. Now you have to wash a glass.”

Sam rolled his eyes in response. “You wash it, freeloader.”

Castiel stopped, spoon halfway to his mouth. “There’s… there’s something different about you, today.” Sam winced as milk dripped off the spoon and onto his sofa. Cas’s cat licked it up. 

“What the fuck? Why’d you bring your damn cat? You know he sheds everywhere!”

Cas’s eyes narrowed. “ _Very_ different. You are in a disturbingly good mood. You haven’t tried to manhandle me out of the house. You haven’t sprayed water on Gabriel. And you haven’t really complained about the milk dripped on your sofa. Or the sandwich crumbs beneath your feet.” 

Sam would not have though it possible, but Cas’s eyes narrowed further. 

“ _And_ you haven’t had any coffee.”

Sam scowled. He was acting normal. Well mainly normal, wasn’t he? And when did Castiel get so insightful? Running a hand through his hair, Sam considered whether to share or not. It was still so new, so precious, and really fucking scary. And Cas would just encourage him anyway.

“And you’re naked.”

\--oo--

Retreating to his room to find some boxers, Sam returned, only to throw himself down next to Cas. He ignored Gabriel’s annoyed _meow_. Fucker didn’t even live here. This was Sam’s sofa and he would park his ass wherever he damn well pleased. 

“I met someone yesterday.”

Castiel leant back and imperiously waved the spoon for Sam to continue. Sam ignored the splash of milk. God knows what else had been dropped their without his knowledge. “He’s local. He’s… he’s interesting. I don’t know if… well, I don’t know if we’re gonna like each other, but I really want to find out. We’re having lunch today. Same place.”

Sucking on his spoon, Cas eyed his friend. Sam had _rules_ about locals. And this was against all the rules.

Cas could get behind that. 

“I see. You are up at the crack of dawn for lunch.” Castiel paused a moment, then smiled his gummy smile. “Then why are you still here, Sam my man? Go and find your pretty… he is pretty, isn’t he?”

Sam’s answering grin was huge. “ _Very_ pretty. Gorgeous green eyes. Freckles. So many beautiful freckles… Strong arms. And a gorgeous ass.” Sighing sadly, Sam leant back and examined the ceiling. “I didn’t get a great look at that.”

“Yeah, it’s hard to admire someone’s derriere whilst seated.”

Cas received a pillow to the face. “You do realise that the milk and cereal now covering your pillows is entirely due to your actions?”

“Whatever. Ass. I’m going out. Try not to be here when I get back.”

Castiel’s voice followed Sam to the door. “I’m making no promises. Your sofa is much more comfortable than my bed. You know I want to move in.”

“And clean up my living room!”

\--oo--

Leaving Cas, Sam felt light and happy and maybe even a little hopeful. Which was weird, and the thoughts were quickly squashed. This was nothing more than meeting up with a new friend, another Cas. Although hopefully not one that wanted to spend all his time on his sofa. Dean would look much better sprawled across Sam’s bed. And across the table for breakfast. Maybe even on the deck of _The Impala_.

Which was _not_ what Sam wanted to think: Sam Campbell did not do relationships. He did not do permanence. Sam Campbell was going to finish his boat and sail around the world. Sam Campbell was going to explore the icy north (oh so different from his Hawaiian paradise) and Sam was going to do things. For the last fifteen years, all Sam had done was play hard with the willing tourists, and worked on his beloved _Impala_.

None of which explained why he was making his way towards the Roadhouse at ten in the freaking morning! It was bad enough that he was returning, but it wasn’t even close to lunch. Since when did he desperately wear his heart on his sleeve?

Sam stopped mid stride. Heart? Oh no. None of this was about heart. It was about a pretty face and a hot body. It was about maybe making a friend and maybe fucking him over the back of a steam cleaned couch. Yeah. That’s all it was. Friendly fun. 

With the matter of Dean’s place in his bed firmly settled, Sam bounded up the front steps of the diner, only to be assuaged with more doubts. If this was just about making a friend, why was he here at ten in the fucking morning? He’d have to, what, admit he’d waited two freaking hours? Was that normal? Was that stalkerish? And there was no way he could hide it. Dean was in tight with those owners. The most sensible plan was to turn around and come back at twelve. 

Before he could make his feet move, the cranky old man (Bobby, his helpful brain supplied), caught sight of him through the door. And scowled. Which pretty much decided Sam. Throwing his shoulders back, he pushed the door open, and dramatically surveyed the room. To his delight, Dean was there! Fuck, he must have been as excited as Sam! 

Dean was seated at the same table as yesterday, eating the same ridiculous waffles. Sam was hard put not to laugh out loud, as he noticed Dean building the same ridiculous structure. 

Strolling over, Sam slid into the chair opposite Dean. He looked thoughtfully at the waffle house, before grabbing a toothpick, and sliding it in. 

“There! Much more structurally sound.”

Sam looked up, face split in a grin, only to be met with cold eyes and a tight mouth. 

“Uh…”

“Do you think it’s ok to stick your hands in someone else’s breakfast?”

“Uh…”

“That it’s somehow ok to invade another person’s space?”

“Uh…”

Fighting for words, Sam’s mouth opened and shut a few times, before he gave up, giving up that battle for lost. All the while he kept on expecting Dean’s expression to fall into teasing lines, for those eyes to sparkly with laughter, but the hard expression remained the same. 

“What makes you think I’m ok with a fucking stranger sticking his hands in my food?”

Sam found his words. “A stranger? Now look, Dean…”

The clatter as Dean’s chair hit the floor was followed by silence. Sam could _feel_ the looks from the other patrons. 

“What the fuck? How do you know my name? What are you? You’re a fucking stalker?”

Sam’s shock abruptly twisted into anger, and before he knew it, Sam was on his feet, fists clenched in impotent fury. 

“A stalker? A stalker? We had breakfast yesterd –“

Between one breath and the next Sam was on the ground. Blinking stupidly, he stared up at Dean, who was framed with a glow from the morning sun. Despite whatever the fuck was going on, Sam’s cock twitched, because yeah, the man was ridiculously attractive.

“Ow.”

Dean was definitely strong. Those perfectly sculpted arms he had so admired yesterday moved with lightning speed and a hell of a lot of force. Sam hadn’t seen the punch coming, but now his jaw fucking hurt and he’s definitely on the floor. 

Son of a bitch!

Gingerly raising himself up onto his elbows, he watched Dean stalk his retreat. He still couldn’t help but notice Dean’s ass was as he stormed across the floor. It was pretty fucking perfect, even though it was clothed. 

“Ow!”

Sam yelped as something else hit the back of his head. Hard. Tipping his head, Bobby swam into view. A pissed off Bobby, with arms tightly crossed, and scowl firmly in place. 

“Damn idjit! I told you to leave Dean be.”

Sam wasn’t taking that lying down! Struggling to his feet, he leaned against the table. Even hunched and dizzy, he was pleased to note, he was still taller than Bobby. Sam needed every advantage he could.

“And _I_ said that was up to Dean!”

Without changing expression, Bobby still managed to exude smug. “Looks like Dean’s made his opinion pretty clear, don’tcha think?”

Scowling Sam stared sullenly out the window, because no, he didn’t think. Bobby was wrong, because that had been… odd, to say the least. He needed to think about it. And what better place, then at the coffee shop where he’d just been knocked down by his date. Not-date. 

Sam eyeballed Bobby, slowly collecting his things, waiting until Bobby’s lips tilted in triumph before seating himself. Making a show of settling himself, Sam reached for the menu, and studied it minutely. He waited until he could _feel_ Bobby about to speak, at which point he looked up and smiled sweetly. 

“One coffee of dubious origin and content. Please.”

“Why you–“

“That’s enough, Robert Singer. You’ll get the _paying customer_ his coffee.” Ellen was standing there, hands on hips as she glared at the two men. Sam quirked an exultant eyebrow at Bobby. “And then you and me will be having a talk, boy.”

Sam’s eyebrow dropped. Ellen was way scarier than Bobby.

~o~

Sam sipped his coffee, eking it out as long as he could. Did he really want to talk to these people? Now that he’d had time to think about it… Dean was pretty, and obviously interesting, but was he worth the baggage that bore? A heart clenching moment later, Sam thought he was. The moment after that, he wasn’t. After a ridiculous twenty minutes of flipping between staying and running, he stood – if she was going to say anything, she would have come to him already, right? - only to find himself on the business end of Ellen’s pointy finger.

“I said we’ll talk. You stay until close. Don’t have time before then.”

Opening his mouth to argue, Ellen talks straight over his protestations. “If you’re as interested in Dean as you claim to be, you’ll stay.”

Sam stared. So she had meant it. Which was surprising really. Ellen had barely spoken to him, and nothing about her indicated she was on Sam’s side at all. Sam knew this was it. there’s something about her, something that tells Sam if he can’t get her… well, it’s not going to be a seal approval exactly, but he needs her not actively working against him. 

The next few hours pass somewhat pleasantly. Bobby still spilled all of Sam’s drinks, but at least more got on the table than Sam. And he had remembered a book. And the view from here was quite nice. Even if _The Impala_ was still floating in what passed for a harbour on this side of the island. 

Sam’s brow clouded. What the fuck? His boat was still there and he hadn’t even thought about it? He was in much deeper than he’d realised. 

So caught up in his musings, Sam missed the locals streaming out. He didn’t hear Ellen and Bobby clearing the tables, and it wasn’t until a chair was scraped back opposite him that he looked up to see Ellen’s grim eyes. 

“Time you and me had a talk, boy.”

~o~

Eventually Ellen sat, a generous serve of scotch in front of her. None for him, Sam noted wryly. She knocked back half in one go. 

“Dean here was the apple of his daddy’s eye. Always a sweet boy, doing things for others. Then last year he decided that his daddy wanted a pineapple for Dean’s birthday.”

That was weird. Hawaii was full of fucking pineapples.

“Where?”

Ellen glowered, but answered his question. “Up at Abaddon’s.”

Sam frowned. “That just makes no sense! We’re in fuc-dging Hawaii.” Ellen didn’t look like she put up with swearing. Sam couldn’t help but snigger under his breath. Bobby looked like the swearing type. He quickly sobered. Now was not the time to indulge in petty byplay. Even if he was sure Ellen could whoop Bobby’s ass. “There are pineapples all year round. Why did he need to go to Abaddon’s? There are least six deaths a year from tourists going over the cliffs, and they’re the worst pineapple on the isla-ow!”

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

Sam nodded sullenly as he rubbed his head. Why did people keep hitting his head? At least it wasn’t his face. Was it so difficult to tell a story without assaulting him? Not that he was going to say that – no, he was invested now. He didn’t really understand why the awesome man he met yesterday was suddenly… suddenly what? Blowing cold, pretending he didn’t know him? Sam didn’t play games: it was one of the reasons he only had one night stands: no time to get attached. Damn Dean and his fucking magnetism. 

Ellen stared at him a few moments longer. When she was finally convinced Sam wouldn’t interrupt, she continued. 

“As you said, that’s a bad road. We don’t know what happened, but Dean went over the cliff. It was only when he was late, that Dean’s daddy and brother-“

A father and a brother. Sam took note. Two more people to watch out for. 

“-went looking for him, and they found him, unconscious but alive. They flew him to the mainland hospital, and he spent a few weeks there, but he’s got some… long term health issues. “

Sam’s eyes sharpened, but he didn’t interrupt. Ellen was obviously looking for an opportunity to stand and leave. Eventually she backed down with a huffed sigh. 

“He has anterograde amnesia. Every morning Dean wakes up and thinks it the 26th of January last year. So every day we all treat the day just like it’s his birthday. ”

Sam was no brain specialist but… “Surely Dean is going to see that he’s aging? That the people around him are aging? Even the world is changing.Aren’t you worried about that? And even if that’s in the future, some days you must slip up?”

“Course we are boy!” Bobby’s gruff voice came from behind. “But unless you have a better idea, you’d best leave well alone.”

Sam’s face was thoughtful, until Ellen grabbed his shirt, pulling him in close. “I don’t think you quite understood Bobby. What he meant to say was _leave Dean well alone_.”

Sam stared at her defiantly. “Really? That’s why you took the time to talk to me, to tell me Dean’s story?” Sam shook his head. “A little something like that isn’t going to scare me-“

Sam jumped, and crockery skittled as Bobby’s fist planted on the table. “This isn’t some game! Dean ain’t a prize. He’s a living, breathing-“

“-man. An amazing human being who I want to know.”

And he did. They’d only met twice, and he’d been assaulted once. He still somehow knew that Dean was really, fucking important. And just like that, Sam made his decision. “It’s not a game, Bobby. And if I _am_ playing, it’s for keeps. Just remember that.”

~o~

It could never be said that Sam wasn’t stubborn.

It’s how he got his boat built. In the scant, precious moments between working and fucking pretty much every visitor that took his fancy, he’d worked on her. And now he had another project: to somehow win Dean Winchester.

The first twenty times Sam returned to the roadhouse, were purely observational. He recorded Dean’s movements minutely, his trusty notebook at his side. At the same time, he carved out a Sam shaped place at the Roadhouse. But he never approached Dean. If their eyes happened to meet, then sure he’d smile, nod, and if Dean happened to start a conversation? Well, Sam treasured those days. Dean’s smile was warm and open, and Sam was very careful to keep his thoughts above the waist. 

And if sometimes his eyes lingered a little, well, Dean was an attractive man. He was used to admiring glances. On good days he’d wink. Other days, Dean was dark and surly. He’d once snapped Sam’s head off just for looking at his ridiculous iced chocolate drink. Bobby had sniggered behind the bar, but Sam hadn’t cared. It was his and Dean’s fifth interaction. 

~o~

It was Day 31 and Dean came breezing in.

“Morning, Bobby! Morning, Ellen! I think I’d like-“

“The usual today.”

Dean and Bobby spoke in unison. Bobby rolled his eyes, and Dean grinned widely. It was a standing joke, and thus far happened 41% of the time. Sam made a subtle note. When Dean was like this sometimes he…

“Oh, what do we have here? A new face?”

Dean sat down opposite Sam. This was the first time he’d done that! And made the sixth time Dean had acknowledged him outside of a smile or nod.

“We don’t often see new people here. What’s your name, stranger?”

In his bones, Sam knew it was going to be a good day.

Which of course meant that the shit really hit the fan. 

~o~

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, buddy, because no one – and I mean no one–says that. My mother was a fucking _saint_.”

Sam held his hands out placating. “Look, Dean—“ 

The growl the man emitted was truly terrifying. 

“Stop acting like you’re my fucking friend! You don’t fucking know me! I just felt sorry for you, okay? Asshole!”

A moment later Sam was blinking chocolate milk out his eyes as Dean stormed off. That… that really didn’t go how he expected. Grabbing a napkin, he wiped his eyes down before finding his feet, ready to follow Dean out. But before he could do much more than gain his feet, Bobby was pushing him firmly back down. 

“Mind telling me what that was about?”

Shaking off Bobby’s hand, Sam stood again “Not now, Bobby, I have to—“

Once more he was pushed none too gently back down into his seat. 

“I _said_ , what was that about?”

The sound of tires squealing out of the car park broke his concentration, and sighing, Sam resigned himself to the inevitable. If Dean was already gone, there was no need to chase after him. Even though he was pretty pissed at Bobby. It was none of his fucking business!

“I don’t know, Bobby.” Sam frowned under Bobby’s answering glare. “I don’t know! I just said his iced chocolate was extravagant, and didn’t he want to try something else, and then he was yelling at me. I don’t even know how it became about his mother!”

Now that Sam was explaining it, he felt anger start to burn low in his belly. Ignoring the silent conversation Bobby and Ellen had above his head, Sam fed the flames. Really, why was he wasting his time trying to date a man who couldn’t remember that they’d ever met, and who had more triggers that a… holy fuck! Sam’s blood ran cold. Dating?! Who said anything about dating? This was just about friends. And even if Sam wanted something different, Dean didn’t even remember who he was. 

But dating… that was something more than seeing someone more than once. Which didn’t work, seeing as Dean would never remember seeing him more than once. Which would have suited old Sam just fine. New Sam… new Sam wanted something more. Fuck. Sam was totally fucked.

Unaware of Sam’s crisis, Bobby and Ellen continue eyeballing each other until Ellen finally finishes their conversation aloud. 

“We can’t actually blame him for this one, Bobby. There’s no way he could have known.”

Bobby looked like he could definitely blame Sam, but eventually bowed his head to his wife’s decision. Not that he wasn’t petty, oh no. With practised moves he wiped the table down, smirking as he flicked more chocolate milk onto Sam. 

Joke was on him, though. Sam was so covered in the shit he just didn’t care anymore. He did, however, want to glean more information on his erstwhile lover. Heh. Dean as his lover. Sam drifted off into fantasy land before Ellen’s deep sigh pulled him from his happy thoughts. 

He watched her until she fidgeted. Yeah, he had information mining from the Singers’ down to a fine art. Push Ellen, she left you hanging. Wait her out though…

Finally she dropped into the seat opposite, grimacing at the squelch. Sam wisely kept his snickers – and comments about Bobby’s cleaning ability – to himself. 

“Dean’s momma passed around twenty years back. She was making iced chocolate for the boys when there was a freak chemical reaction between the ice cream and chocolate syrup. The whole kitchen went up in flames, leaving nothing but one untouched bag of marshmallows.”

Wow. Sam actually had no idea what to say.

“Dean’ll only drink iced chocolate now, in memory of Mary. And he doesn’t take kindly to strangers having opinions on his drink.” Sam didn’t miss the quick glance towards Bobby. “Or friends either.”

Sam made a face. “I don’t object to iced chocolate. Or hot chocolate. Or even lukewarm chocolate. I can kinda understand the whipped cream tower, and even the chocolate powder on top. Chocolate syrup? Sure, that goes in hot chocolate. But the three pumps of raspberry, plus red sprinkles, and the pile of marshmallows on the side?”

Not that he needed to explain. Sam’s expression said more than words ever could.

“It’s a tribute.” And yeah, Ellen’s voice was more than a little defensive. 

“Sam’s got a point.” 

Sam had to blink. Was… Did… Did Bobby Singer just _agree_ with him? 

“We are not having this discussion again, Bobby! It’s nothing we haven’t said before, and I don’t think we should be starting this in front of Sam.”

The couple were gearing up for an argument, and despite the temptation, Sam really wasn’t in the mood to see Bobby get his hat handed to him. 

He had to see Dean. Despite the ridiculousness of the drink, and the… the sheer fucking melodrama of the reason for it, it was important to Dean. Which made it important to Sam. Which meant…

“I have to go apologise.”

That stopped the pair. Bobby’s mouth dropped, but Ellen through back her head and laughed.

“Really?”

Nodding shortly, Sam stood, only to be stopped by the mocking look in Ellen’s eye. 

“And where exactly are you going? To _Dean’s_?”

Ah. Where did Dean even live? Pursing his lips he turns back to the Singer’s. Neither of them looked open to imparting that sort of information. And, of course, there’s no point apologising tomorrow. Maybe… maybe that was a silver lining? Dean would never remember the bad stuff. But he’d never remember the good stuff either. 

Sam was screwed. 

“See you tomorrow,” Ellen called as Sam walked out the door. 

Her voice held smug certainty. She knew - _thought_ she knew – that Sam was going to give up. That it was too hard, and he’d just call it a day. Especially after such a public rejection. Because yeah, even here, in a backward part of the island, Dr Sam Campbell had a reputation. He was a one night only, no promises, love ‘em and leave ‘em type. So of course he could understand the attitude. 

But they’re all wrong, and against even his own expectations, Sam found himself falling in love with Dean a little more each and every day.


	3. Meet the Family: They Won't Forget

Diner assignation 61 found Sam was on the porch, watching as Dean drove off. Another day, another lack of anything. No smile, no acknowledgment and definitely no date. 

“It’s never gonna happen. He’s never going to recognise you. No matter how hard you try, he’s never gonna waltz over to your table and sit down.” 

“I don’t want him to just sit down with me. We made a date. I want that date.”

Bobby snorted. “It’ll never happen, boy.” 

Fucking smug asshole. He didn’t even have a reason to be on the porch.

“Yeah?” Sam turned, face set in lines of determination. “You don’t think so? Then how do you explain that first day? _He_ asked _me_ , if you recall correctly.” 

Which Sam sure as hell did.

“Beginners luck,” Ellen responded this time. Just as smug as her stinking husband. 

“I don’t need luck.” Ok, so that was an absolute lie, but Sam bravely rallied himself. “I don’t need it, because somehow Dean is going to know I’m serious. Somehow, he’s going to work out we’re meant to be together, and somehow, we are going to go on that date.” 

He ignored their sniggers. “Dean is going to know I’m serious, and then you’ll be eating your words.”

There’s no heat to his words, though. How can there be? He’s living in a fucking fantasy land. Dean hasn’t acknowledged his existence, other than to smile like he does at everyone else. Well, except for that time when he punched him. And threw his drink in his face. Maybe Sam’s an idiot. Maybe he should just give it all in. 

Maybe tomorrow…

~o~

The 62nd visit to _The Roadhouse_ started exactly like the 46 of the others. Dean came in with a jaunty swing to his hip and a cheeky smile on his face. Sam’s heart clenched as Dean offered a kind word for everyone. Except Sam. Dean’s eyes glossed over him, moving on to someone else, someone he knew. And it fucking hurt. Then and there Sam decided he had to stop this. His heart was too tender for any more.

And he swore he’d never mess with anyone again. Not that he’d ever intended to break anyone’s heart… But now he’d experienced himself… small things could still hurt. And it was all his own fault. Dean had never promised him a thing. How could he? But it still felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. Gearing himself up to see Dean’s smile for the last time, Sam studied his Dean notes, ready to record this last meeting. 

Except that he heard the scrape of wood against floor as the chair opposite him is pulled out. And then the muffled thud of a body hitting wood, even as a warm presence seated itself opposite him, and when Sam looked up, green eyes appraise him with interest. 

Fuck. It’s Dean. It’s _Dean_. Dean is sitting right in front of him! Sam’s jaw may have dropped, but he was quick to close his mouth. Though he aimed for a light smile, he knew it was more than a little unsure. Something Dean picked up on, those green eyes twinkling brighter. Damn bastard was used to making people nervous. 

“Hi there. Don’t think I’ve seen you before. Come here often?”

Sam heard the _crack_ of a mug hitting the floor, while the drink Ellen was pouring spilled over. Sam was so thrilled he didn’t even feel smug. 

Because that was flirty. That was definitely flirty. Dean Winchester was definitely flirting with him. 

Which meant that Sam needed to respond. Yes, that was the next step, respond. Dean says something, then Sam says something back, but holy fuck! How was he supposed to answer that? What to start with, hey Dea- No! What the fuck was he thinking? Dean hadn’t introduced himself yet. The silence settled, and Dean started to fidget. 

Fuck! Dean was going to think he wasn’t interested, and that was definitely not the case. 

Sam’s internal voice went into overdrive. _Don’t blow it, Sam. Don’t blow it. This is your final chance, so don’t fucking blow it!_. Taking a deep breath, Sam calmed himself. He could do this. He was smooth, he was charming, and his love interest was right in front of him. Now was not the time to fuck this up. 

Summoning his best dimples, Sam smiled. 

“As often as I can, since I met you.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, as he appraised Sam. Then he threw back his head and laughed. 

“You’re a real smooth talker, aren’t you?”

Oh thank god, he responded normally! But what the fuck was he supposed to say now? He now knew so much about Dean, but he couldn’t use any of it. 

“Or maybe not.” Dean’s grin dimmed again, and that just wasn’t ok.

“Sorry, I just… wasn’t expecting such a handsome guest. But…” Sam paused, as if thinking. He cocked his head. “I haven’t ordered breakfast yet. You interested in joining me?”

And – there it was. That beautiful smile. Sam felt like he could live on that smile. The last few months of pain and rejection faded into nothing as Dean’s face lit up again, and he settled more comfortably in his seat. He was now a man who was going nowhere. 

“Don’t mind if I do. My name’s Dean.”

“Sam,” Sam offered back. “Sam Campbell.”

He couldn’t have held back his smile if he tried. Looking around, Bobby was still staring so Sam threw up a cheeky finger. 

“Ah, excuse me? My _date_ and I would like to order. Oh, you are ready, aren’t you Dean?”

“Sure am, I always order the pancakes on special occasions. They’re the best!”

Sam let the conversation wash over him, basking in warmth of the man before him. It was the 62nd day, and Sam knew he’d be back tomorrow. For as many tomorrows as it would take. 

\--oo--

And it really did mark a turning point. Dean still didn’t remember him, but now, more often (ok three times), Dean would walk in and see him, sauntering over to flirt and sit down and have breakfast with him. Now, more often, even if Dean didn’t approach him directly, his eyes would drift over Sam with interest. Now, sometimes Sam would make the first move and Dean would say yes! 

And on those days, Sam was indescribably happy. Cas had even noticed. 

Of course fucking Cas would notice. Because at some point in the last couple of months, Cas’s lover had thrown him out, and Cas had settled permanently on Sam’s sofa. With that fucking cat. 

And Sam hadn’t even noticed. 

“Awww! C’mon, Cas! You know I hate it when you smoke inside!” Sam threw open a window, and fanned the smoke outside. No wonder his house smelt like an ashtray! “Take up baking, I’ve heard that it’s much better on the lungs, and you still get a high.”

“But I like smoking…” Cas’s voice was a whine. “You’re just cranky today because Dean turned you down.”

Spinning on one foot, Sam stared at his friend.

“What! I… He… No he didn’t!”

Leaning back against the sofa, Cas sucked defiantly on his smoke. 

“Yes he did. Because the days Dean ignores you, you come back and complain about something. Generally the cat.” 

Fucking Cas, with his fucking bad attitude, Sam thought resentfully. 

“I don’t like cats.”

“And then you tell me all about your stupid boat and how you’ll tour the arctic with only your cold heart for company.” 

What? What was Cas going on about? Sam wasn’t the drama queen here. Before he could defend his honour though, Cas was talking. Again. 

“And the days that he does talk to you, you come back and moon about how pretty he is, how the two of you will sail the pacific and bring love to those who need it. When you are willing to share the amazingness that is Dean Winchester. Which will be never, because you’re a selfish bastard.” Cas took another deep drag, then added, “You don’t say that last bit, but it is heavily implied.”

“I do not say that! Any of that! That’s fucking preposterous! And didn’t I tell you to find somewhere else to live? You and that fucking cat?”

Cas nodded agreeably. “Yes you did. And yet, here we are.” 

Sam’s eyes narrowed. That was a rather mild response to being kicked out. Again. “That’s not a cigarette.”

Cas smiled his big, gummy, _stoned_ , smile at him. “Of course it’s not. I don’t smoke cigarettes. Something you would remember if your head wasn’t full of Dean.” Cas sat abruptly, dislodging the cat.

“I need to meet him. It’s only right. As your best friend, confidant-“

“No.” Sam wasn’t ready for Cas to meet Dean. He wasn’t ready to have someone he knew and trusted tell him what a bad idea this was, and that he should pack up and get the hell out of dodge. He knows it’s a bad idea, but… it’s Dean.

That’s what it always comes back to: it’s Dean. 

“- plus I want to try that iced chocolate! It sounds amazing!”

Ok, maybe it was safe to let Cas meet Dean. It wasn’t like Dean would remember anyway.

 

\--oo--

 

This being Sam’s life, nothing went to plan.

Cas – being the unemployed stoner he was – decided that today was as good a day as any. 

And Sam, having cleared his mornings for the foreseeable future couldn’t think of a good enough reason to turn him down, as _I don’t want you there_ , _this is private_ , and _he’s never going to sit with me if I have a friend_ didn’t sway Cas in the slightest. If Sam was stubborn, he didn’t even know the word for Cas. 

So that was how Sam found himself sitting at The Roadhouse, sitting opposite a bright eyed Cas who took in fucking everything. He went and chatted with the regulars – and managed to confirm that they were indeed drinking beer at nine in the morning, but none of that imported foreign crap. Well, at least that explained the terrible coffee. 

Eventually Cas returned to Sam’s table. Although it was only when the disgusting looking chocoalte drink arrived. Sam noted that it was topped with blue sprinkles. Typical Cas.

“Nice place! I can see why you keep coming back. And this-” droplets of chocolate sauce, and milk, and cream coated his face. Sam made a face. He really hated that drink. “- this is truly delicious, Sam. You should taste it!”

The trouble was, Cas might be totally serious. About the drink _and_ liking the place. Before Sam could interrogate him on what he liked, the door swung open, and there was Dean. Dean’s eyes scanned the room, and Sam could have sworn there was a flicker of hurt when they brushed over Sam and Cas. Of course that was impossible, but it didn’t stop the little stutter of his heart.

What was unmistakable was the furious look from the two men behind him. 

“Oh, that’s right.” Bobby placed Sam’s coffee in front of him. “You haven’t met John or Kevin yet.”

~o~

It wasn’t the most comfortable morning he’d spent at the Roadhouse. While Bobby and Ellen had never been warm, compared to John and Kevin, they’d been positively _gushing_. 

Kevin, the brother, split his time between glowering at his books (advanced calculus from the look of it. Hopefully that meant he was brainy not brawny. Sam _really_ hoped his weedy appearance was accurate), and staring at Sam like he wanted to rip his arms off. John though… John just stared at Sam like he wanted to kill him. And John looked tough. John looked strong. And John was most definitely _pissed_.

Sam knew when to cut his losses. Today he wouldn’t get to talk to Dean, fine. There was always tomorrow. But as he packed his belongings, Ellen whispered, “You leave now, you won’t ever have a chance.”

Fuck. Although it was kind of concerning that Ellen appeared to be on his side. Was it the apocalypse? Breathing deeply, Sam settled himself down. This was make or break time. And he wasn’t going to lose out because he ran. With a firm nod, he looked up, and ordered another coffee. 

~o~

“Shit! Dad, we’ve gotta go! The game starts in ten.”

Most of the patrons had left. In fact, all of them, bar the Winchesters, Sam and Cas. Sam was on his fifth coffee and positively buzzing, while Cas had started drinking beer with a man with an impressive mullet. He was pretty sure they’d had more than beer too, as when Cas finally tottered back he was practically floating.

“Super digs, man. Could totally go some waffles right now. D’you think the kitchen’s closed?”

“Yeah the kitchen’s closed. And maybe you’d like to take off while we talk to your… _friend_.”

Somehow Dean had disappeared, leaving behind two very angry Winchesters. Sam rubbed his temple as Cas squinted at the man in front of him. “Take off where? Sam drove me here, so unless you are offering to drive me home, I don’t have any other options. But if I am being honest, which I always am, I wouldn’t accept your offer. You look angry, and I don’t believe it safe to drive with people under the influence.”

“Uh, Cas…”

Cas turned sincere eyes on Sam. “It is possible to under the influence of emotions, Sam. Just look at the way you’ve been mooning over Dean for months. However, I factored in your driving experience, and that fact that you have safely made it here in excess of sixty times, and decided that I would be safe.”

He turned to study John again, who by this stage looked more confused than angry. 

“Cas, you’re under the fucking influence!”

“True. But I’m not driving.”

“You’re not…” John Winchester was staring at him, and it was uncomfortable.

“Not what?”

“Not with this guy?”

Frowning, Sam looked at Cas, who had decided to answer John’s question. “Well, I came with Sam today. And we are friends. And I sleep on his couch. So I am with him.”

“You’re not helping, Cas.”

Sam and John shared a look, and by mutual unspoken agreement decided to ignore Cas, who had lost interest and wandered over to the bar. Good, let Ellen entertain him. 

The two men stared at each other. 

“So you’re Sam.”

Sam nodded. 

John fiddled with a paper napkin on the table. Sam blinked. John was nervous. What did he have to be nervous about?

Before he could speak, Kevin had barged in front of his father. “You’re the asshole who’s fucking with Dean!”

Sam scooted back. The little guy sure was angry. And he moved like he knew how to cause damage.

“I’m not fucking with Dean! I like-“

“Dean’s my brother, and I’m not going to let you hurt him! He’s worth more than just a one night stand.”

Sam was pissed. Jumping to his feet, he towered over the shorter man, who didn’t back down at all. “I said I wasn’t fucking with him! I want more than that! I want-“

Kevin’s bitter laugh cut him off. “More than that? You want _more_ than that? How! Dean doesn’t – and won’t ever – remember more than today! It can’t ever _be_ more than that!”

Sam’s mouth stopped working. Because they were wrong. They had to be wrong. John continued to stare at him, before he nudged his son, jerking his head at something.

“Dean does art therapy.” 

Okay… that came out of nowhere. 

“Of course he doesn’t know it’s therapy. He just thinks we go to painting classes for his birthday.” John looked at the table again, before calling to his son. “Kevin! Bring the fucking book here.”

The surly looking youth stalked over, throwing a book on the table. _Dean: Jan 2015 -_ written on the cover. 

“I don’t care what dad thinks. You do anything to hurt my brother, and I will kill you!” Kevin spat the words at Sam, then stalked out.

“Which isn’t an idle threat, by the way. Dean’s a pretty kid. A pretty, vulnerable kid. We have to look out for him. Always have and always will. And when I came in today and saw you with that…”

Enough was enough. “You saw me with Cas. My friend and roommate. And general pain in my ass, but that’s beside the point.” Drawing a steadying breath, Sam knew he had to be honest. “If you want to know something, ask. Because I’m serious about Dean.”

John’s eyes sharpened at that. “Why? Dean’s damaged. Like Kevin said, his memory’s probably shot for good. And yeah, we’ve tried everything. Sent us practically bankrupt, but it would have been worth it if…” His voice trailed off and his eyes glazed over, before they sharpened once more on Sam. “There’s no point dreaming about _what if_ ’s. What I’ve got is a boy who can’t remember his present, and some sick son of a bitch that seems to want him.”

Breathing deeply through his nose, Sam fought to ignore the insult. If he was being fair, he couldn’t blame the man. Dean was vulnerable to all sorts of predators, and he would never be able to defend himself. He wouldn’t remember a damn thing. If anything, now that he understood better, Sam was glad Dean had people looking out for him.

“If my intentions were dishonourable, then I wouldn’t come here, right under Bobby and Ellen’s nose. Like I said. I like Dean. I like him a lot. I know it’s hard, fuck! I’ve been coming here most days for three months and he’s had a pleasant drink with me _twice_. I don’t know what you think is going on, but it’s pretty much _nothing_.”

And wasn’t that the sad truth? Sam had nothing. Dean didn’t know him, would never know him. So what the fuck was he doing?

The art book was thrown in his lap. Sam scowled at the older man, who just jerked his chin towards the book. “What?”

“Look at it. It’s his therapy art.”

Wasn’t that a violation of privacy? “Wait a minut-“

“I said look at it.”

Sam opened the book. And came face to face with his own face bright and bold in what looked like crayons. 

What?

He traced his profile. That was definitely him.

“Look at the next page.”

It was him. In colour, in black and white. Paint, charcoal, ink, pastels. Each and every page was him.

“He doesn’t draw in a book. It’s single pieces of paper. I mean, every lesson is the first isn’t it? So it’d be weird to have a book full of shit. But for the past… five? Six weeks? It’s you. It’s all you.”

A heavy silence settled between the two men, before John bit out, “So what the fuck is so special about you that he remembers _something_?”

Sam’s voice was hoarse with suppressed tears. “I don’t know, sir. I honestly don’t know. But I want to be there to find out. Will you… Will you help me?”


	4. Epilogue: I'll Try to Remember Every Day

Dean woke up and the room was moving. 

“What the fuck?” Rooms didn’t move. Did they?

Gingerly sitting up, he looked around, then had to bounce a bit because although he had no fucking idea where he was, but the mattress was incredibly comfortable – maybe even memory foam, given the way it was caressing his ass! – _and_ the sheets felt really damn nice. Almost good enough to lie back…

Sighing, Dean hauled himself to the side of the bed. He can’t go back to bed. Not until he knows where he is. And it’s probably not prison, given how comfortable, and weirdly nice it all is. But it’s still not familiar… or at least, not really. Frowning, his rest upon a photo frame beside the bed. It looks like him but… grabbing it, he held it close, scowling now, because yeah, that is definitely him. But he doesn’t know where it was taken – he could swear he’s never been anywhere with windmills – and he doesn’t recognise the other guy. He’s tall and looks a bit like a shaggy puppy. A really attractive puppy. One that Dean would definitely bone.

What was he ever thinking? That was fucking weird. You need to focus, he sternly told himself. Because thinking about it, it’s weird that he’s in a picture with a strange man. And that’s not the only picture. Photo frames filled with pictures are scattered throughout the room. Most of them are of him and the man, although there’s a couple of dad and Kevin (which is weird, because dad looks like he’s crying in one), and his eyes rest on another of him and the puppy man. Although this time the man was holding the cute little girl – all smiles and freckles, and very green eyes. 

Dean frowned, but before his thoughts could make any sense, he spied a note. 

_Dean, press play on the computer._

Ok. So wherever he is, they know him. Well, his name at least. That’s something, right?

Feeling no small amount of trepidation, Dean pressed play. 

\--oo--

John appeared on the screen, and something Dean hadn’t realised was tight, relaxed within him. If his dad was there, then somehow it was ok. Pictures could be faked after all. 

“Hi sweetheart, it’s dad.”

Dean grimaced. That was kinda weird. Dean was no one’s sweetheart. Dad only said that when he was worried. So maybe things weren’t ok?

“He knows it’s you, dad! God, how many times are we going to have to record this thing?”

Kevin was off screen, but Dean chuckled at his brother’s annoyed tone. Kevin sounded the same as ever, like a whiney brat. Kevin sounded fine. 

“We’re not going to do again, Kevin.” And even on the other side of the screen, Dean knew they weren’t. He winced at his father’s drill sergeant tone, he’d been on the end of that enough times, but before he could get too caught up, John’s was staring back at the camera, eyes soft. “Ok, last take? So sweetheart, this is dad. Kevin’s here too–“

The vision blurred for a moment, and then Kevin was there, all big arms and spiked hair and… surely he was more built that Dean remembered? Shaking his head, Dean decided he must be mistaken. 

“Kevin! You’re supposed to wait! Remember break it in easy, oh for fuck’s sake.” John glared at his youngest, while Kevin grinned and waved at the camera.

“Dean. What’s the date?”

“January 24, 2010.” Dean replied without thinking. 

His dad was looking sadly at the camera. “Son, you had a car accident on January 24, 2010. Things have changed a lot since then. But one things hasn’t. Me and Kevin still love you very much. But, well. Things have changed. And using this video recording, we’re going to-“

“Oh my god, dad! Dean. Lots has changed since you had your accident. Check this out.” 

The image of his father and brother fade, and words fill the screen. 

_Hello, Dean.  
Today is the 29th May, 2017_

“No.” The word bursts from Dean’s mouth. “No, it can’t be!”

_Here’s some things you may have missed._

Dean watched open mouthed as newspaper headlines and photos filled the screen. There’s war and earthquakes and “No! We lost the game! God! How many times have I paid dad a hundred bucks! Fucking Vikings!”. There were puppies, and “Trump ran for president?” and “Wow! Pluto looks like that” and, “I knew you’d fucking ace that! But no fucking way! A doctor!” 

The photos melded into more and more pictures of him, of his family, and of the sexy giant. Who the fuck was he?

The thought abruptly departed when the screen freezes on an image of Dean in a suit. It looks like a wedding… 

“What the fuck? I got married?!”

The flurry of photos stopped at this point, and his dad and the man appeared on the screen. 

“Hi, Dean. It’s Sam. Your husband.” And he gets a huge sappy grin. Which he quickly hides behind a serious expression. “And before you say anything, you love me very much. And of course, I love you.”

Dean was willing to believe it. That was quite the sappy smile. And dad hadn’t punched him out.

“I met you at the Roadhouse” Sam laughed, and those beautiful dimples appeared. “Bobby and Ellen didn’t like me much.”

The video cuts to Bobby and Ellen out the front of the Roadhouse. 

“Don’t let him fool you, boy. We still don’t like the idjit.”

Ellen elbowed Bobby in the ribs. “But we do love you, so we gave him the waffle recipe.”

Bobby’s gruff face broke into a grin. “And also for that revolting iced chocolate you like, and don’t argue with me boy, I’ve served some bad drinks in my time, but that had to be the worst. But if you’re in the mood, definitely ask for it. Sam’ll be more than happy to make it.”

Ok… This was all strange. But… It had to real, didn’t it? Dad and Kevin and Bobby and Ellen would never fuck with him. Plus maybe there was a small part of Dean that wanted to believe it was real. For some reason, there was something he liked about the man. Sam. Something he liked about Sam. He was drawn to him.

“There’s been lots of other changes too.”

Dean leaned forward as there are pictures of the wedding – wow he married a looker! Sam’s fucking gorgeous in that suit. And Dean doesn’t look too bad either. The photos stop and a movie starts up. It’s him and Sam, and the wedding party. There’s a few faces he recognised, but more than a few that he doesn’t. There’s plenty of photos of Sam with a dark haired man – his best man from the look of it. Dean wiped tears from his eyes as he realised Kevin was _his_ best man. 

“Do you, Sam Campbell, take Dean Winchester, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish for as long as you may live?”

Dean’s holds his breath as Sam looks at him, so much love in his eyes. “I do.”

“And do you, Dean Winchester, take Sam Campbell, to be your lawfully wedded husband…” 

Dean tunes it out and stares at his face. He’s in love. He is staring at this man he doesn’t know and he is in love. How the fuck does that even happen. 

“You may now-“

“Wait. I want to say something.”

What the fuck? Sam interrupted before they got to the good part!

“Dean. I’m saying this to you for today, and for tomorrow, and for every day after. I love you. I love you with all my heart. And I am going to spend each and every day getting you to fall in love with me.”

Dean doesn’t wipe his tears away as the priest continues with “you may now kiss the groom” and Sam leans forward and pulls him into the hottest kiss he’s seen in a very long time!

Relaxing back into the pillows, Dean watched open mouthed as more images of his life appeared. He must have been happy, as he was definitely getting fatte-

“What the fuck!”

That wasn’t just a fat stomach. That was a pregnant stomach. Dean’s seen pregnant men before and that looks like… 

Before he can hyperventilate too much, there are more pictures. Dean couldn’t help but notice the way Sam’s smile is growing at the same rate as his belly, and really, Dean looks very happy too.

Even as Dean stared at himself, another movie started. This time Dean was screaming at Sam. 

“ _I SWEAR I AM NEVER LETTING YOU FUCK ME AGAIN SO LONG AS WE LIVE YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!_ ”

A snort is surprised out of him. For the first time he felt lucky not to remember anything - that was obviously a rough ride. Sweat coated his brow, and woah, that is a mean fucking look in his eye! The movie paused when a small bundle is placed in his arms. Although he can’t see what it is yet, he knew what it was. He watches the way his face softens, and that smile playing on his lips is… wow. Fucking wow. 

Dean just watched himself fall in love. 

Hastily he wiped tears away – not that there was anyone to see, but still. He’s not the crying type, and that’s already too times too many. 

Except there he is crying on screen. 

“She’s so gorgeous! Sammy! Look at what we made!”

Dean looked hard at Sam’s expression - and if the camera is on Sam, who the fuck is filming? Focus, Dean, he tells himself sternly. He can ask that later, right now he’s looking at the way his… fuck! His husband! He’s looking at the way his husband is also falling in love with that little bundle. 

“What do you want to call her, Dean?”

Dean’s pretty sure his expression mirrors that in the movie. Who asks the person who can’t remember a single a fucking thing to name their child? Who the fuck does that? She’s gonna end up with some weird ass name. I mean, if you asked him what she would be called now it be-

“Matilda Rose.”

Dean stared in shock as movie him spoke with him him. Sam’s face crinkled up in delight. Kissing Dean on the head he patted the baby – Matilda’s – head. 

“That’s what you say every time, Dean.”

 

~o~

Dean sat silently as the video played on. Blinking back even more tears as years passed before his eyes. He sees his baby become a toddler and then a little girl. She had Sam’s looks, but there was a cheeky feel about her that Dean liked to think might be his? Plus all those freckles.

Just when he thought it was over, there was one last video. Sam and Matilda stood looking out to sea, in matching red anoraks. Turning around to look at the camera, Matilda waved. 

“Come up soon, daddy!”

Laughing, Sam turned around, hoisting her onto his hip, before he looked directly at the camera. Sam walked forward, and Dean couldn’t help but notice the fucking icebergs in the background. What the fuck? Where the fuck were they?

Sam seemed to stare straight into Dean’s eyes, as his lips smirked in a challenge. 

“Grab your jacket, babe, and come join us. It’s cold this morning.”

_the end_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had fun writing that one.   
> I think this is the first mpreg I've written where we see the kid. This bodes well for future fics, methinks.


End file.
